What does a pipe smoker look like?

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Re: What does a pipe smoker look like?

Post by Del » Fri May 19, 2017 7:28 pm

A_Morley wrote:
Fri May 19, 2017 12:45 pm
Del wrote:
Fri May 19, 2017 10:09 am
AMJ is still the prototype of a good-looking pipe smoker.




Kilt, fez, and all.
I'm going to start viewing you in the same way I viewed grandmother. The way your mind works is rendered far less irritating if I imagine that you are an elderly, senile, Norwegian Lutheran woman.
Have some more lease, Alli....
"Utter frogshit from start to finish." - Onyx

"Let all bitterness and wrath and anger and clamor and slander be put away from you, along with all malice. Be kind to one another, tender-hearted, forgiving each other, just as God in Christ also has forgiven you." - Eph 4

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Re: What does a pipe smoker look like?

Post by A_Morley » Fri May 19, 2017 8:35 pm

Del wrote:
Fri May 19, 2017 7:28 pm
A_Morley wrote:
Fri May 19, 2017 12:45 pm
Del wrote:
Fri May 19, 2017 10:09 am
AMJ is still the prototype of a good-looking pipe smoker.




Kilt, fez, and all.
I'm going to start viewing you in the same way I viewed grandmother. The way your mind works is rendered far less irritating if I imagine that you are an elderly, senile, Norwegian Lutheran woman.
Have some more lease, Alli....
You were trying to type lefse, weren't you, you dundering oaf? You tried to type lefse and let autocorrect go ahead and make you look even stupider. Or you don't actually know what lefse is and just decided to type a word that you remember being similar to something that you thought you might have heard that Norwegian people eat.

And my grandmother's name for me was Asshole not Alli.
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Re: What does a pipe smoker look like?

Post by JudgeRusty » Sat May 20, 2017 3:37 am

A_Morley wrote:
Fri May 19, 2017 8:35 pm
Del wrote:
Fri May 19, 2017 7:28 pm
A_Morley wrote:
Fri May 19, 2017 12:45 pm
Del wrote:
Fri May 19, 2017 10:09 am
AMJ is still the prototype of a good-looking pipe smoker.
Kilt, fez, and all.
I'm going to start viewing you in the same way I viewed grandmother. The way your mind works is rendered far less irritating if I imagine that you are an elderly, senile, Norwegian Lutheran woman.
Have some more lease, Alli....
You were trying to type lefse, weren't you, you dundering oaf? You tried to type lefse and let autocorrect go ahead and make you look even stupider. Or you don't actually know what lefse is and just decided to type a word that you remember being similar to something that you thought you might have heard that Norwegian people eat.

And my grandmother's name for me was Asshole not Alli.
It is hard to overstate, and define, the import of that statement.
Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I have become sounding brass or a clanging cymbal

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Re: What does a pipe smoker look like?

Post by Del » Sat May 20, 2017 6:50 am

A_Morley wrote:
Fri May 19, 2017 8:35 pm
Del wrote:
Fri May 19, 2017 7:28 pm
A_Morley wrote:
Fri May 19, 2017 12:45 pm
Del wrote:
Fri May 19, 2017 10:09 am
AMJ is still the prototype of a good-looking pipe smoker.




Kilt, fez, and all.
I'm going to start viewing you in the same way I viewed grandmother. The way your mind works is rendered far less irritating if I imagine that you are an elderly, senile, Norwegian Lutheran woman.
Have some more lease, Alli....
You were trying to type lefse, weren't you, you dundering oaf? You tried to type lefse and let autocorrect go ahead and make you look even stupider. Or you don't actually know what lefse is and just decided to type a word that you remember being similar to something that you thought you might have heard that Norwegian people eat.

And my grandmother's name for me was Asshole not Alli.
Correct on the auto-correct.

All of the family restaurants around here serve lefse, which is delicious.

And if it were up to me, I'd let your grandmother force-feed you with lutefisk until you apologize to Hovannes and invite him to come back,
"Utter frogshit from start to finish." - Onyx

"Let all bitterness and wrath and anger and clamor and slander be put away from you, along with all malice. Be kind to one another, tender-hearted, forgiving each other, just as God in Christ also has forgiven you." - Eph 4

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Re: What does a pipe smoker look like?

Post by A_Morley » Sat May 20, 2017 12:07 pm

Del wrote:
Sat May 20, 2017 6:50 am
A_Morley wrote:
Fri May 19, 2017 8:35 pm
Del wrote:
Fri May 19, 2017 7:28 pm
A_Morley wrote:
Fri May 19, 2017 12:45 pm
Del wrote:
Fri May 19, 2017 10:09 am
AMJ is still the prototype of a good-looking pipe smoker.




Kilt, fez, and all.
I'm going to start viewing you in the same way I viewed grandmother. The way your mind works is rendered far less irritating if I imagine that you are an elderly, senile, Norwegian Lutheran woman.
Have some more lease, Alli....
You were trying to type lefse, weren't you, you dundering oaf? You tried to type lefse and let autocorrect go ahead and make you look even stupider. Or you don't actually know what lefse is and just decided to type a word that you remember being similar to something that you thought you might have heard that Norwegian people eat.

And my grandmother's name for me was Asshole not Alli.
Correct on the auto-correct.

All of the family restaurants around here serve lefse, which is delicious.

And if it were up to me, I'd let your grandmother force-feed you with lutefisk until you apologize to Hovannes and invite him to come back,
Ha. It's because of doltish rustics like my grandmother and the rest of the witless Scandinavians who adopted me that I was so merciless to Hovannes in the first place. Like him, all of those people, in addition to being the most opinionated and self-justifying individuals imaginable, were so bad at expressing themselves either verbally or literarily as to make a mockery of language every time that they attempted to use it. At the same time, they seemed to feel that this was a good and a righteous thing, as though their dull, Lutheran god smiled upon them every time they expressed themselves badly, told a stupid joke, or simply grunted by way of a response.

My grandmother took the place of my actual mother, her adopted daughter, on account of the fact that that coke addled hussy who was responsible for bringing me into this ridiculous world actually tried to kill me on two separate occasions before I was even one year old. So I was left in the care of an aged, half crazed Ole and Lena who should never have been given the care of livestock, let alone children, and reared on a dirt farm on the outskirts of a nightmare version of Lake Wobegon.

My grandfather seldom spoke at all. My grandmother spoke constantly. Often to herself alone. In complete gibberish. She was born and raised in some goddamn isolated Norwegian enclave where she grew up speaking some twisted dialect of Norwegian that had gotten her stupid people kicked out of their native country and most other Norwegian speakers had trouble knowing what she was saying. She learned to speak English, or at least a kind of English, in the logging camps and hobo jungles of Depression Era America, but she never really learned it very effectively and was constantly switching back to her own yappy ideolect. Add to this the fact that I later came to realize that she suffered from some form of cognitive brain disorder, mild aphasia, and likely schizophrenia and I ended up being constantly exposed to what was about the most confusing and frustrating communicative experience possible.

I don't remember how old I was when I realized that I didn't see the faces in the wall that grandma saw and was always whispering to. I can remember thinking that there was something wrong with me at first. Grandma was never wrong, after all. We were all taught that. Her other sons, the ones she had either formally adopted or had taken in over the years, they all believed that. Grandma was never wrong. They were terrified of her until her dying day. If there were faces in the wall, they were the faces of angels or demons and we just weren't good enough to see them.

I was the only one who ever told her she was wrong. That's why my family nickname was Asshole. That came to be about the only thing she ever called me and the rest of the family would follow suit. She would start talking about some damn thing, trip over her words, make some nonverbal noises, make up another word, and then go off on some tangent or other and everyone else pretended like they understood her. I had gotten to the point of wondering why everyone at home didn't talk like the people on TV or like my teachers at school. If grandma was never wrong she should damn sure be able to form a complete a single sentence and a recognized language or articulate a complete thought. I would stop her and correct her constantly. Oh she would get mad, she would backhand me. Knock me across the room. My only response would be to didactically criticize her even more. When I got to big for her to knock over, she would have one of her sons do it. I have one misset bone and a few missing teeth as testament to the fact that I would simply stand back up and correct them on their pronunciation and word choice. Grandma was never wrong.

She had a stroke, several strokes actually a few years after I had moved out and got myself admitted to speech and drama school. Her sons were terribly worried. They wanted to do something, but she insisted that she was fine, even though her eyes didn't track anymore and her tongue wouldn't stay in her mouth and she constantly fell over. Grandma was never wrong. She wouldn't let them take her to a hospital or even let them into her bedroom. They decided to call Asshole.

I told them that I was never coming back and that I had meant everything I ever said to them. If grandma was never wrong and they were her slavish disciples than let her heal herself. I had to come back, they told me. She was going to die and I was the only person she would listen to on account of the fact that I was the only person who ever yelled at her, was mean to her, told her she was wrong.

I went home one last time, barged into her bedroom and, with all the force and fury the televangelist sermons she used to force me to watch and all of the Shakespeare I would memorize to try to drown it out, I told her that she was wrong. I told her that she was dying and that her death would be even more horrible if she didn't let somebody drive her to a hospital right the hell now. She tried to yell back at me, but I had been filling whole auditoriums with my voice for years now and all that she could do now was sit there and groan. She let them take her to the hospital, but as the were helping her out the door, she turned back to me, her eyes looking two different directions, drool streaming out of her partially atrophied lips; with perfect distinctness and clarity, though, she said one parting word:

Asshole.
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Re: What does a pipe smoker look like?

Post by Thunktank » Sat May 20, 2017 7:17 pm

So there really isn't anything bundt assholes here, I'm in good company then. 8)

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Re: What does a pipe smoker look like?

Post by Del » Sun May 21, 2017 1:16 pm

A_Morley wrote:
Sat May 20, 2017 12:07 pm
Del wrote:
Sat May 20, 2017 6:50 am
A_Morley wrote:
Fri May 19, 2017 8:35 pm
Del wrote:
Fri May 19, 2017 7:28 pm
A_Morley wrote:
Fri May 19, 2017 12:45 pm
Del wrote:
Fri May 19, 2017 10:09 am
AMJ is still the prototype of a good-looking pipe smoker.




Kilt, fez, and all.
I'm going to start viewing you in the same way I viewed grandmother. The way your mind works is rendered far less irritating if I imagine that you are an elderly, senile, Norwegian Lutheran woman.
Have some more lease, Alli....
You were trying to type lefse, weren't you, you dundering oaf? You tried to type lefse and let autocorrect go ahead and make you look even stupider. Or you don't actually know what lefse is and just decided to type a word that you remember being similar to something that you thought you might have heard that Norwegian people eat.

And my grandmother's name for me was Asshole not Alli.
Correct on the auto-correct.

All of the family restaurants around here serve lefse, which is delicious.

And if it were up to me, I'd let your grandmother force-feed you with lutefisk until you apologize to Hovannes and invite him to come back,
Ha. It's because of doltish rustics like my grandmother and the rest of the witless Scandinavians who adopted me that I was so merciless to Hovannes in the first place. Like him, all of those people, in addition to being the most opinionated and self-justifying individuals imaginable, were so bad at expressing themselves either verbally or literarily as to make a mockery of language every time that they attempted to use it. At the same time, they seemed to feel that this was a good and a righteous thing, as though their dull, Lutheran god smiled upon them every time they expressed themselves badly, told a stupid joke, or simply grunted by way of a response.

My grandmother took the place of my actual mother, her adopted daughter, on account of the fact that that coke addled hussy who was responsible for bringing me into this ridiculous world actually tried to kill me on two separate occasions before I was even one year old. So I was left in the care of an aged, half crazed Ole and Lena who should never have been given the care of livestock, let alone children, and reared on a dirt farm on the outskirts of a nightmare version of Lake Wobegon.

My grandfather seldom spoke at all. My grandmother spoke constantly. Often to herself alone. In complete gibberish. She was born and raised in some goddamn isolated Norwegian enclave where she grew up speaking some twisted dialect of Norwegian that had gotten her stupid people kicked out of their native country and most other Norwegian speakers had trouble knowing what she was saying. She learned to speak English, or at least a kind of English, in the logging camps and hobo jungles of Depression Era America, but she never really learned it very effectively and was constantly switching back to her own yappy ideolect. Add to this the fact that I later came to realize that she suffered from some form of cognitive brain disorder, mild aphasia, and likely schizophrenia and I ended up being constantly exposed to what was about the most confusing and frustrating communicative experience possible.

I don't remember how old I was when I realized that I didn't see the faces in the wall that grandma saw and was always whispering to. I can remember thinking that there was something wrong with me at first. Grandma was never wrong, after all. We were all taught that. Her other sons, the ones she had either formally adopted or had taken in over the years, they all believed that. Grandma was never wrong. They were terrified of her until her dying day. If there were faces in the wall, they were the faces of angels or demons and we just weren't good enough to see them.

I was the only one who ever told her she was wrong. That's why my family nickname was Asshole. That came to be about the only thing she ever called me and the rest of the family would follow suit. She would start talking about some damn thing, trip over her words, make some nonverbal noises, make up another word, and then go off on some tangent or other and everyone else pretended like they understood her. I had gotten to the point of wondering why everyone at home didn't talk like the people on TV or like my teachers at school. If grandma was never wrong she should damn sure be able to form a complete a single sentence and a recognized language or articulate a complete thought. I would stop her and correct her constantly. Oh she would get mad, she would backhand me. Knock me across the room. My only response would be to didactically criticize her even more. When I got to big for her to knock over, she would have one of her sons do it. I have one misset bone and a few missing teeth as testament to the fact that I would simply stand back up and correct them on their pronunciation and word choice. Grandma was never wrong.

She had a stroke, several strokes actually a few years after I had moved out and got myself admitted to speech and drama school. Her sons were terribly worried. They wanted to do something, but she insisted that she was fine, even though her eyes didn't track anymore and her tongue wouldn't stay in her mouth and she constantly fell over. Grandma was never wrong. She wouldn't let them take her to a hospital or even let them into her bedroom. They decided to call Asshole.

I told them that I was never coming back and that I had meant everything I ever said to them. If grandma was never wrong and they were her slavish disciples than let her heal herself. I had to come back, they told me. She was going to die and I was the only person she would listen to on account of the fact that I was the only person who ever yelled at her, was mean to her, told her she was wrong.

I went home one last time, barged into her bedroom and, with all the force and fury the televangelist sermons she used to force me to watch and all of the Shakespeare I would memorize to try to drown it out, I told her that she was wrong. I told her that she was dying and that her death would be even more horrible if she didn't let somebody drive her to a hospital right the hell now. She tried to yell back at me, but I had been filling whole auditoriums with my voice for years now and all that she could do now was sit there and groan. She let them take her to the hospital, but as the were helping her out the door, she turned back to me, her eyes looking two different directions, drool streaming out of her partially atrophied lips; with perfect distinctness and clarity, though, she said one parting word:

Asshole.
'Tis a pity.

Does not excuse anyone from chasing away a gentle fellow like Hovannes.
"Utter frogshit from start to finish." - Onyx

"Let all bitterness and wrath and anger and clamor and slander be put away from you, along with all malice. Be kind to one another, tender-hearted, forgiving each other, just as God in Christ also has forgiven you." - Eph 4

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Re: What does a pipe smoker look like?

Post by A_Morley » Sun May 21, 2017 2:27 pm

Yes, and I liked Uncle Bob. He's gone now too, apparently, thanks to you. So, here we are.

Gentle fellow. That's rich.
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Re: RE: Re: What does a pipe smoker look like?

Post by ReverendThom » Sun May 21, 2017 7:53 pm

A_Morley wrote:
Del wrote:
Fri May 19, 2017 10:09 am
AMJ is still the prototype of a good-looking pipe smoker.




Kilt, fez, and all.
I'm going to start viewing you in the same way I viewed grandmother. The way your mind works is rendered far less irritating if I imagine that you are an elderly, senile, Norwegian Lutheran woman.
Hmmmmm we may be cousins, or step cousins.

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“I believe that many who find that "nothing happens" when they sit down, or kneel down, to a book of devotion, would find that the heart sings unbidden while they are working their way through a tough bit of theology with a pipe in their teeth and a pencil in their hand.”

― C.S. Lewis, On the Incarnation

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Re: What does a pipe smoker look like?

Post by sweetandsour » Sun May 21, 2017 8:41 pm

Well now. Hov's gone, and now UB? And where is Hugo? I'm out of touch with this place, beyond what everyone is smoking, and the pipes.

WRT the title of this thread, I'd post a pic of my dad if I can locate it. He's the codger in your burley, with a billiard in his teeth, wearing an old blue-jean jacket, standing in the garage, holding up a old fashioned stringer full of large mouth bass. The very last thing I said to him was "I love you Dad, and I'll see you on Thursday". "I love you, and I look forward to Thursday", was his reply. It was a Monday evening, and I drove away fully expecting to see him on Thursday. And then I received a call the next morning. He was 100 years+6 months old.

Damn, I wish I had his old pipes! I have no idea where they went. My older sis probably threw them away. The same sister that told him that she poured his brandy down the drain, when he was drinking the bottle down a little too quickly (in her opinion). "Brandygate", we all called it; and boy he was one angry 100 yr old! As it turned out, she really didn't dump it, but had just hid it up in the kitchen cabinet. She gave what was left of it to me a few days after his funeral when she was cleaning out a few things. I brought it home and promptly drank the few ounces that remained in the bottle. I drank it all, and lit a pipe. And then I cried.
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Re: What does a pipe smoker look like?

Post by Thunktank » Sun May 21, 2017 10:16 pm

I basically agree with Morley on this topic of what pipe smokers look like.

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